


O'Hare: A Horror Story

by Amuly



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bathroom Sex, Body Shots, Bottom Richie Tozier, Condoms, Drunk Sex, Eddie Kaspbrak Lives, Everybody Lives, Gloves, M/M, Semi-Public Sex, Top Eddie Kaspbrak
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2020-12-13 21:04:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21004148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amuly/pseuds/Amuly
Summary: Eddie and Richie find themselves stranded in the O'Hare airport due to a freak tornado weather system (true story). Eddie always buys traveler's insurance, of course, so this wouldn't be so much a problem if it weren't for the fact that they were, in all likelihood, going tomiss their own damn wedding.Richie can't fix the weather, but he can rope Eddie into doing body shots and fucking him in the VIP lounge bathroom. It's the little things, you know?Or, the first-but-not-last time Richie and Eddie are banned from an airline's VIP lounge.





	O'Hare: A Horror Story

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stitchy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stitchy/gifts).

> CONGRATS ON YOUR NUPTIALS, STITCHY. This is for you!

Eddie grabbed hold of the check-in desk, knuckles turning white. He knew he shouldn’t scream at this random airline worker. It wasn’t _her_ fault. But oh, sweet merciful fuck, he was going to scream at _somebody_ soon, and it probably shouldn’t be his soon-to-be-husband. Who would never make the transition to _actually_ being his husband if the _fucking. Plane. Didn’t. Arrive_.

“When’s the next flight to New York?” Eddie hissed, voice so low that Richie, hovering by his left elbow, took a step back. Eddie’s voice only got that low before it got very, very loud. Eddie’s fingers dug harder into the counter.

“I’m sorry Mr. Kaspbrak, all flights are currently grounded.”

“_All_-”

“Eddie, sweetheart, look outside.”

“Don’t call me sweetheart,” Eddie snapped. And he didn’t need to look outside. He had a fucking weather app on his phone. It had been pinging alerts at him ever since they landed at O’Hare, for their perfectly-timed ninety minute layover. That had been three hours ago, of course. There were tornados outside, or whatever. So fucking what? A plane couldn’t fly through a tornado? Those hurricane planes did it all the time! And it’s not like there was a tornado right _now_. They could _avoid_ it, couldn’t they?

“When do you think they’ll be _un_grounded?” Eddie asked.

The United employee boggled at Eddie. She glanced down at her computer, then back up at him. “I’m sorry, we don’t know? It’s the weather.”

“Yeah but you can _predict_ the weather, can’t you? Look, the radar-”

“Eds, she doesn’t know.”

“Well my fucking weather app knows! Look, it says that the storms should be through by…” Eddie scrolled over the radar, watching the screen as it projected the futurecast. His heart pounded harder in his chest.

“Nine o’clock tonight,” he whimpered. After a moment of watching the radar loop over, and over and over, he shoved his phone back in his pocket. He glared at the United employee with renewed determination. “Get us on whatever your nine o’clock to New York is. Or Maine. We’ll miss our fucking layover, so if you’ve got a direct flight to Maine… or Boston. Providence. Whatever, we’ll fucking rent a car and drive if we have to-”

Richie had his phone out and was thumbing rapidly through it as the United employee started click-clacking at her keyboard.

“Okay sir, we have a nine-fifteen flight to New York. Would you like to book that?”

“Fine, do it,” Eddie said. “First class,” he added, because fuck this shit. He looked over at Richie. “You got anything?”

Richie was sucking at his teeth, thumb swiping a vertical line over and over on his phone. Finally he sighed and nodded. “Yeah, there’s a fucking red eye to Portland, one-thirty am. Gets in at three. We could do it, get forty winks at the airport hotel, then rent a car and get our asses the rest of the way there in the morning?”

Eddie rubbed at his face. “Fucking hell, we’d be getting in an hour before the fucking photographer shows up. We’d barely have time for a shower and shave.”

“I like you better with a little stubble anyway,” Richie offered, trying to stay optimistic.

“Not for our fucking _wedding photos_,” Eddie snapped back. He shook his head. “Fine, fine! Book it. If it’s our only option, fucking book it. We’ll make it happen.” He pointed at the United girl. “You too, you book, let’s go.”

She smiled tightly at Eddie (deserved). “The tickets are booked, sir. Would you like your confirmation emailed to you?”

Eddie threw his MileagePlus premier card at her. She handed it back with a smile after much more tick-tack-typing.

“You’re all set, sirs. Enjoy your flight.”

“Fucking right,” Eddie grouched. He poked at Richie. “Did you-”

“Ye of little faith. And… send. They’re booked, we’re on.”

“Fine. I’ll call the car rental place-”

“And then we’re getting you a _drink_, Eddie my dear.”

Eddie groused, but didn’t say ‘no’ to that. He could use a fucking drink. Honestly: tornados? At O’Hare? What were the odds?

He followed Richie on autopilot as Eddie focused most his attention bitching out the car rental place until they managed to find an SUV for them to rent (at a rental place a town or two over, which they agreed would be there and waiting for them in the morning. For a surcharge, of course. Everything was fucking surcharges at this point). By the time he hung up, Richie was holding open a door for him to the United VIP lounge. Eddie felt himself relaxing in increments as they walked in, carry-on luggage in tow.

“Okay, we’ve got a car ready for us at seven am tomorrow morning,” Eddie told him.

“Eastern Standard Time,” Richie pointed out.

“Right,” Eddie agreed absently. The lounge was kinda packed. He supposed it made sense, given that no planes were getting in or out of the airport (which was _bullshit_. What if he was the President? Would they not let him out of he was the _President_?!).

“_From here on in I shoot without a script_!” Richie sang off-key. Eddie squinted at him. Richie sighed. “Seriously, how have you never seen _Rent_? You lived in New York in the nineties.”

“I was a broke-ass college kid in New York in the nineties. Followed by being a broke-ass intern in New York in the nineties. I wasn’t going to see Tony award-winning plays.”

“Oh so you _have_ heard of it.”

“Trivia,” Eddie mumbled, not wanting to admit he learned that fact watching _Friends_ reruns on Netflix around the time his marriage to Myra really started falling apart. If he admitted that then Richie would drag him into watching a marathon of all ten seasons together and then he’d _never_ get any work done. And his work didn’t _require_ him to consume pop culture like a particularly unique vacuum, unlike _some_ people’s.

Richie was already elbowing his way into the bar, slapping down his MileagePlus card. “Two cosmos, por favor.”

Eddie rolled his eyes but accepted the drink (he actually liked how they taste) when Richie proffered it to him. “Just one,” he warned Richie. “We’re getting married tomorrow.”

Richie wrinkled up his nose and leaned in close, smile fighting hard for freedom. “We’re getting _married_ tomorrow,” he whispered.

Eddie shivered and accepted the kiss, even though he still felt uncomfortable doing that in public. But the prospect of getting married to Richie was… good. It made him feel brave. He smiled and ducked his head after he broke the kiss, Richie still crowded in too close. _Richie_ made him feel brave. And Eddie was looking forward to a lifetime of feeling like that. If they could _get out of the fucking O’Hare airport_, of course.

“Bev says they just landed,” Richie said, looking at his phone. Eddie swore and grabbed for his. He drank his cosmo too quickly.

“Great, great!” Eddie groused. “Everyone’s going to be at our wedding _except us_.”

“Hey angry bear-”

“No.”

“-stop stressing.” Richie rubbed Eddie’s arm up and down. “They can’t have the wedding without us. It’ll work out.” He flashed two fingers at the bartender and winked.

“No, hey, Richie.” Eddie tried to cancel the order but Richie stifled him. “We can’t get _drunk_. We’ve got pictures tomorrow! I’m already going to have to ice under my eyes unless I want to look like you punched me the night before our wedding; I don’t need greasy combination skin and rosacea in photos we’re going to have for the rest of our lives.”

“I’ll shell out for the photoshop package, lover,” Richie told him. He held the second cosmo out to Eddie with a twinkle in his eye. “C’mon. C’mon. Think of it like pregaming for our honeymoon.”

Eddie glared at him, ignoring the drink Richie poked him with again. And again. And again. Finally he huffed and grabbed the cosmo from him.

“Don’t _ever_ call me fucking _lover_ again,” he hissed.

“Duly noted, honeybadger.”

Six o’clock, seven o’clock, eight o’clock all based in a blur of more drinks and Richie eventually wrangling them two stools for themselves, somehow, even though the lounge only got more and more crowded as the most ridiculous once-in-fifty-years storm raged outside Chicago. Eddie kept compulsively checking his Apple Watch until finally Richie wrestled it off him and shoved it into his carry-on. He still had his phone to check the time, luckily. Richie tried to distract him by tying a cherry stem with his tongue or catching bar peanuts in his mouth (“No, I’m not going to kiss you after that, no, Richie, do you know how much e. coli is on bar peanuts?”).

Eight-thirty. Eddie shoved his third empty cosmo at the bartender and stumbled over to the MileagePlus representative desk.

“Excuse me,” he definitely did _not_ slur (this was bullshit, getting old sucked, since when was he such a lightweight?). “Our plane still hasn’t landed to deboard and it’s a nine-fifteen flight.”

The MileagePlus rep stared at him with dead eyes, like he’d been answering this same question over and over again all night.

“Yes, sir. All flights in and out of O’Hare are still grounded.”

“But the weather is-”

A crack of thunder shook the entire airport. Eddie turned around and flipped off the sky.

“The front is moving slower than initially predicted,” the rep told him. “I’m sorry, sir. Now flights aren’t projected to resume until eleven-thirty.”

“Eleven-thirty…” Eddie did some quick math. Hour and a half flight to New York. One am arrival (if there even _was_ an eleven thirty flight out of O’Hare to New York). Their flight out of JFK to Portland was one thirty. Boarding closed ten to fifteen minutes before the flight. Fifteen minutes to de-board…

Eddie grabbed the information kiosk. “When’s the first flight out of here to JFK?”

Tick tack tick tack. Eddie’s shoulder blades itched. He wanted to grab the computer from this damn twenty-year-old twink’s hands and do it himself. He was sure he could be faster about it. And get a better deal.

“Our next flight out to JFK is a red eye at one am.”

“What about the other airlines?” Eddie pleaded, feeling crazed. The United MileagePlus rep shook his head sadly at him. “I’m sorry sir, I can’t find that information on our systems-”

“Fucking bullshit, I have to do everything myself,” Eddie hissed, grabbing for his phone. He stormed back over to Richie, typing as fast as his thumbs could fly.

“We’re fucked,” Eddie told him as he sat down. Richie pressed a kiss to his temple and pushed a drink at him. Eddie grabbed it and swallowed it down before coughing and gagging. “What the fuck?”

“Tequila. You’re too tightly wound and tequila always makes you feel good.”

Eddie wiped the back of his mouth with one hand. “Tequila always makes me _horny_, you mean.”

Richie beamed. “Well. Ipso facto…”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “Get me a water. I’ve got to sober up and concentrate. They’re delayed until eleven-thirty and United doesn’t have another flight to JFK until one.”

“Should I cancel our-” Richie was reaching for his phone.

“No!” Eddie really needed that water, his screen wasn’t so clear right now. But he was still navigating the travel sites like a pro. “No, I’m going to find us a fucking flight out of this purgatory and _get us to our wedding_.”

Nine o’clock came and went. There were no flights. Eddie laid his head on the sticky, germy VIP lounge bar and wondered if he should start crying. It felt like a crying moment. He felt more furious than sad, but still. He’d killed a _fucking _monster space clown and the fucking _O’Hare airport_ was going to beat him?

Yeah, no, actually: that seemed about right. The odds of beating the O’Hare airport were definitely worse than the odds of defeating a monster space clown. He should have seen this one coming. He was a risk analyst, for crying out loud!

“At least you got traveler’s insurance,” Richie observed.

Eddie groaned and pressed his head into Richie’s shoulder. “That’s not the _point_,” because yes, of course he had. “We’re going to miss our _own wedding_.”

“Everything will keep. The flowers will keep, our friends will keep, the cake will keep-”

“The venue won’t keep, the photographer won’t keep…”

“Then let’s make some calls,” Richie suggested.

A glimmer of hope. Eddie set his jaw and reached for his phone. Yeah. Yeah! He could make some phone calls! Richie smiled, sensing the steely resolve straightening Eddie’s spine.

“There’s my angry munchkin.”

“Was big enough for you last night.” Eddie held the phone up to his ear as Richie cackled and started ordering more drinks.

Eddie yelled at the photographer until Richie grabbed the phone and doubled his already outrageous pricing _and_ promised to go in for the deluxe photoshop package.

“You shouldn’t have done that. He’s taking advantage of us.”

“You called his home number and yelled at him at nine-thirty on a Friday. I don’t know who’s taking advantage of who, at this point.” Richie glanced at his phone. “Okay, the Losers and my sister are all up to speed and working like our fairy Godmothers to catch everyone else up.”

“Aren’t we supposed to be the fairy Godmothers?” Eddie grumbled, still pecking away at his phone. He had to cancel the car rental now, great, there went his deposit on _that_…

“That’s an offensive stereotype,” Richie sniffed. Then he pushed another cosmo at Eddie. “Now: drink.”

“I can’t, I need some water.”

“Bullshit. Our wedding is now another day away. Time to start our honeymoon early.”

Eddie sighed and plugged his phone into the second charging brick of the day. He looked at Richie, who was grinning at him above his own matching cosmo, hair askew from a day’s worth of travel that wasn’t even over yet. Eddie sighed again, but this time he was trying to cover for a smile. Yeah, there was no fooling Richie on that front. Richie whooped and grabbed Eddie’s face, kissing him on the mouth. The he turned and pounded on the bar. “Shots, shots, shots, shots!”

“No, no, not _shots_-”

They did shots. Then the bartender—and the rest of the MileagePlus lounge—caught on to their incredibly tragic story of missing their own wedding, and suddenly their drinks were all paid for. Another round of shots, and another. And Eddie found himself grinning muzzily as he made out with Richie at the bar as their fellow weary travelers cheered for them. Richie’s tongue slipped out and dragged up Eddie’s cheek.

“Hey, hey, c’mon,” Richie mumbled, nibbling at Eddie’s ear. Eddie shivered, though he couldn’t figure out if it was in disgust or arousal. It was all kind of mixed up this many drinks in. “Let’s do body shots.”

“What the fuck is a body shot,” Eddie swore, but then Richie was ripping off his shirt—okay, well, shit. That worked—and grabbing a lime and salt from the bartender. Bending backwards against the bar, he poured a line of salt up his chest (_way_ too much, Eddie thought with a giggle), shoved the lime in his mouth, and then stuck the tequila shot in his belly button. He waggled his eyebrows at Eddie.

Eddie contemplated the sight, eyes blinking slow in a combination of unbearable horniness and probably way-too-drunkenness.

“I feel like I should just leave you like this since the lime kinda shuts you up, huh?”

Richie pulled out the puppy dog eyes, wiggling his belly enticingly. Some of the tequila sloshed into the thick brown hair across his stomach. Eddie’s mouth watered. Well, fuck. That was effective.

“Okay, so: drink, lick, suck?” Eddie reviewed. It’d been a while, after all. They were in their fucking forties, after all.

For that matter, weren’t they still in a fucking airport lounge, after all? Eh, fuck it. O’Hare _owed_ them after this fucking mess.

“No hands!” someone shouted from down the bar. Eddie grimaced but dutifully put his hands behind his back. He bent low—fuck, this was sexual. This felt like he was getting in position to blow Richie in front of God and everyone He had abandoned in the O’Hare MileagePlus Premier members lounge. Eddie tried to think non-sexy thoughts as he bent over, wrapped his lips around the rim of the tequila glass, and tipped his head back. He dropped it on the bar, hurrying to lick the line of salt on Richie’s chest. Richie had his hand on the back of Eddie’s head by the time he went in for the lime, and they quickly spat it out so they could make out unencumbered again. The other premier members of United’s MileagePlus program cheered.

“God you’re so hot,” Richie moaned into Eddie’s mouth.

“Fuck you,” Eddie moaned back.

“Yes, please, please.”

“Let’s go to the airport hotel,” Eddie tried to plan.

“Nah. C’mon, private bathroom.”

“No way.”

“Eddie…”

“It’s an _airport_ _bathroom_, there is no more disgusting combination of words-”

“I was half hard just listening to you yell at the wedding photographer,” Richie confided, scratching his fingers through Eddie’s hair. It was a problem, how hot that got Eddie. “I went from half chub to full mast when you bent over to suck that tequila shot off my stomach,” Richie moaned, desperate. Eddie squirmed. “I need you to fuck me, Eds. C’mon.”

“Fuck, you fucking asshole…”

But that meant yes, of course. Eddie sent Richie ahead of him, drunk mind still trying for discretion (even if he wasn’t actually succeeding at it). Casually Eddie tried to close out their tabs, was told twice it was covered by the various other patrons in the VIP lounge, then finally stumbled away talking loudly about how they were headed for the airport hotel, oh yeah, he just had to use the bathroom first…

Richie was on him before they even closed the door. Eddie locked it behind them, then grabbed Richie’s face and pulled him back.

“How many people did you make out with before I came in?”

“Just like, three,” Richie promised before attacking Eddie’s mouth again. Eddie let him, pinned up against the door like a bug on a board. Richie moaned into his mouth and it transferred to Eddie. Fuck, they were being loud. They probably shouldn’t be so loud.

“Here,” Richie slapped condoms, gloves, and lube into Eddie’s hand. Then he turned around and started dropping his pants.

Fuck, Eddie loved that man. Eddie slipped the glove onto his right hand and poured some lube into it. As soon as Richie’s pants were down around his ankles he grabbed Richie by the shoulder and shoved him against a wall, slipping one finger into him. Richie panted, glasses askew. Eddie licked his neck. That was probably unsanitary, they’d been traveling all day, they both needed a shower. Eddie licked again, then bit down as he shoved a second finger inside Richie’s waiting hole.

“Fuck, I love your hands, fuck,” Richie babbled. “Your fingers fill me up so fucking good, Kaspbrak.”

“Your mouth is ridiculous, Tozier,” Eddie shot back. He used his left hand to turn Richie’s head back so he could lick his way into Richie’s mouth. His right hand fucked Richie hard, fingers squishing in and out. Broken noises spilled from Richie’s mouth into Eddie’s which he swallowed up with his lips and tongue.

“You feel so good,” Richie moaned against Eddie’s lips. “Fuck, I needed this. Your fucking fingers in me, fuck, gimme another babe, c’mon.”

“Don’t call me babe,” Eddie warned, but he shoved a third finger in. Richie groaned _way_ too loud, they were _so_ getting banned, but Eddie didn’t really care as he finger-fucked his fiancé, his _almost_ husband, one more day.

“That’s it, ah fuck, Eddie, feels so good, fuck, I love the way you stretch me open-”

“Why’d I pack the ball-gag in our checked bags,” Eddie complained.

“Those are halfway to Florida by now, you know,” Richie pointed out. He whined as Eddie pulled his hand from Richie’s ass and tossed the glove away. Richie jerked at the sound, reaching forward to fist his own leaking dick. “Fuck, you know I’ve got like, a Pavlovian response to snapping gloves now, thanks to you.”

“Well good, then those stirrups I ordered for the honeymoon should be perfect,” Eddie commented dryly. He rolled the condom over his dick and dribbled more lube over himself. Then he passed the bottle over to Richie for his own erection. He didn’t need to spit into his hand in a fucking airport bathroom.

Richie slammed his fist into the wall as Eddie slid inside him, pounding weakly as Eddie bottomed out. Eddie breathed hard, forehead pressed to Richie’s back. He’d found his shirt again, unfortunately, after the tequila shots. Eddie raised his head and licked at Richie’s neck as he tilted his hips back, then pushed back in.

“Fucking fuck, Eddie…” Richie’s fist pounded at the wall a few more times. “C’mon, gorgeous, please…”

“I’m getting there,” Eddie told him. He rolled his hips against Richie’s ass, first one way, then the other. Richie shouted.

“_Fuck_!”

“Okay.”

Eddie grabbed Richie’s shoulder with one hand, other holding onto Richie’s hips as he started fucking him in earnest. Richie banged his head on the tiled wall in front of him. Eddie grabbed it and pulled it back, kissing him again as his hips pumped into him.

“Don’t put your head on the wall,” Eddie mumbled into his mouth. “That’s gross.”

“You’re fucking me in an airport bathroom,” Richie crooned. “That’s grosser.”

Eddie groaned, hips jerking hard and dick leaking into the condom before he regained control of himself. “Fuck,” he hissed.

“Oh my sweet Aunt, did that get you _hot_?” Richie asked.

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Oh _yes_, Eddie!” Richie shouted, volume _way_ too high for what was supposed to be a clandestine rendezvous. “Fuck me in this filthy airport bathroom! Pump that dick into my dirty hole!”

“I fucking hate you, I fucking hate you,” Eddie hissed. He pressed his forehead to Richie’s shoulders as he panted harshly into his shirt. Fuck, fuck. Richie felt so good around him. He wasn’t going to last very long. Not to mention he was too fucking drunk to try.

“_Ung_, fuck, these walls are probably _filthy_,” Richie observed. “Imagine all the piss-spray from the toilets flushing that’s coating everything around us. How often do you think they wash the ceilings? Not often enough, right?”

“_You’re_ fucking filthy,” Eddie growled.

“That’s right: I’m your dirty boy. What are you going to do about it?”

Eddie pulled out of Richie and grabbed the back of his neck. He dragged Richie over to the sinks, hauled him up onto the counter, then pushed back in, fucking Richie into the mirror. Richie groaned, head cracking back onto the mirror before Eddie leaned in and grabbed him, yanking him in for a kiss. Richie helpfully scooted his hips low on the counter, ass hanging over the edge so Eddie could fuck him easily. Eddie tossed Richie’s legs over his shoulder as he pounded into him. His balls slapped against Richie’s ass as Richie moaned and broke the kiss, tossing his head back again.

“Fuck, yeah, right there,” Richie moaned. He threw a hand back, bracing himself on the mirror. “Fuck me good, yeah, fuck, you’re a rockstar, Eds. You’re my rockstar.”

“Fuck I love you, you fucking asshole,” Eddie grunted out. He slapped Richie’s ass, causing Richie to cry out, before grabbing it and hauling him tighter against his hips. Eddie closed his eyes, feeling his orgasm building low in his stomach.

“I love you too you fucking dick,” Richie announced. He reached out to grab Eddie’s shirt, hand slipping up until his palm traced over the scar that covered a dish-sized section of Eddie’s stomach. Richie kept his eyes open, staring up in awe at Eddie.

Eddie leaned down and kissed him. “Don’t cry,” he said. His hips jerked unsteadily, orgasm almost on him. Richie’s dick smeared precome on his shirt, trapped between their stomachs, but he didn’t care.

“It’s the tequila,” Richie swore. Eddie snorted and kissed at Richie’s eyes, first one, then the other. Richie sobbed and grabbed at him, kissing him hard.

“Fuck, okay, are you almost-”

“Yeah, yeah, just jerk me-”

“Okay.” Eddie reached between them, jerking Richie’s dick in time with his thrusts. Eddie’s balls tightened, he bit his lip. “Fuck, Richie, I’m-”

“Go, go, I’m right behind you-”

“_Fuck_, _Richie_-!” Eddie spilled into the condom, burying himself to the hilt in Richie’s ass. Richie reached down and covered Eddie’s hand with his own, jerking him fast until he came a second later. His asshole tightened around Eddie, squeezing him through his orgasm. Eddie’s hips jerked, mouth falling open and eyes screwed up as he spilled his last inside of Richie. Finally he groaned and laid down on top of Richie, even though the angle was terrible.

“Fuck, okay,” Richie groaned. “Now I’m just gonna start crying because of my sciatica.”

One hand on the base of the condom, Eddie eased out of him. He tossed the condom, then washed his hands. Richie batted ineffectually at the come on his shirt, tears only now drying on his cheeks. As he slid off of the counter to wash his own hands, Eddie pulled him in and wiped at his cheeks. Richie sniffled humiliatingly.

“Fuck, sorry. Fuck. Seriously, it’s the tequila, it always does that.”

It wasn’t the only time Richie had cried after or during sex, of course. And not every time, or even most the times, had been because of tequila. But Eddie didn’t say anything, just dried his tears before pressing a sweet, gentle kiss to his lips. Then he winced and stumbled, grabbing his head.

“Okay, I am… fucking wasted.”

Richie beamed as he turned to wash his hands. “Yeah you are!”

“Fucking shit, you really got me to fuck you in an airport bathroom.”

“Yeah I did!”

Eddie moaned and leaned against the counter, head in his heads. “I need water. And Gatorade. And like, four Advil.”

“C’mon, hot stuff. Let’s get a room and sleep the rest of this fucking day off.”

“Change your shirt first you schmuck.” Eddie rummaged through his carry on for a spare shirt (he had two).

Then the pounding on the bathroom door started, and Eddie would take to his fucking _grave_ how he jumped and hid behind Richie at the sudden noise. And Richie better, too, if he knew what was good for him.

Eddie woke up in the airport hotel room with a hundred messages on his phone, a hangover, and a lifetime ban from the United MileagePlus premier lounges in airports everywhere. At his side, Richie snickered lowly, threw an arm over his chest and fell back to sleep.

Well, the wedding wasn’t for another twenty-four hours. There was no rush. Eddie rolled over against Richie’s side, hoping somehow his hangover would dissipate with a few more hours of sleep.


End file.
